Love Might Just Be A Photograph Poem by Delilah Miller

We're some sort of photo shoot:
you hungrily clicking away,
me testing a thousand different poses,
swirls and blending dabs of chaos,
as a background.
The flash is wearing me down.

Rarely, I'm allowed to see
the only pictures you've formed of me
when you sigh at my insecurity
and talk dirty.
Your great vision is a shot of me
where I'm black-and-white;
seems the details are no longer important.

Getting ready in dawn's light,
I saw that my lipstick is dwindling.
I think I've done a lot,
for you.
It's eating up what I've got,
and you're already worn out.
I've heard love survives,
but in photos more than in reality.